Tools of the Trade

July, 2021

When you’ve got a condition like ALS, your house, if you’re lucky enough to fight this wretched disease from home, becomes the residence of a number of mechanical guests. Like a Lego set of the youngest child of an extended family, these medical mechanical marvels multiply with each malfunction in neuromuscular mobility.

I’ve blogged ad nauseum about the Hoyer lift and the LazyBoy on Wheels so I won’t bore you with my impressions of those two medical mechanical marvels, except to say that the Hoyer does look like an albino praying mantis sitting on its rump with an orange sack in its jaws. Really.

The first cousin to the LazyBoy on Wheels is the commode chair. It’s there when you want to commode, i.e., when it’s shower time or when Door Number Two calls. Or as I described it in a previous blog, when it’s time to wash or wipe. It is upholstered in an inviting institutional grey, with a seat similar to that found in your grade school stalls but with generous padding. There is also a sternum strap that, when buckled, is intended to keep you falling over like a rag doll but feels like you’ve been strapped into a mobile straight jacket. There were footrests and a headrest included as standard equipment, both of which were promptly removed.

A design defect exposed itself once the footrests were determined to be extraneous. There was nothing to prevent one leg from getting stuck in the space that lived front and center on the seat much to the displeasure of Door Number One. Replacing the footrests would render the chair unable to negotiate the tight corners of our humble abode. A firm throw pillow was soon stuffed between my thighs to keep them from the offending chasm, a solution which was amusing in appearance but lacking in functionality. A spacer provided by the manufacturer was intended to help alleviate the problem and allow Door Number One to flow into the toilet, but was soon rejected when it merely directed Door Number One to flow onto the floor. Coming to the rescue was Clever Brother Chris who designed a purple block which admirably closed the gap, making Door Number One much less ornery although doing nothing for its aim.

While we’re on the subject of personal hygiene, the transformamation of the lowly toothbrush to medical mechanical marvel might be of interest. Because I can neither hold a toothbrush nor properly expectorate, dental health required adaptation. This medical mechanical marvel is a cross between a toothbrush, with sponge attached, and a shop vacuum cleaner. I kid you not. The toothbrush acts like the business end of a shop vac and the sponge wipes your pearly whites dry if you are so inclined.

So where does the vacuum part of our oral cleaning medical mechanical marvel come from? Simple. The brush is attached to a tube which feeds into a miniature air compressor. Ingenious. The compressor unit is a cylinder with a water pail attached and even has a circular analog pressure meter for your viewing pleasure. It even sounds like an air compressor, which means it’s about as quiet as a poorly lubricated blenter chopping ice. This medical mechanical marvel allows my caregivers to brush my chops then suck the soiled toothpaste from my mouth. What will they think of next? Now if I could only keep my mouth open to allow them to do their job all would be well, at least for my teeth.

Because we discussed the commode chair and its necessary role in commodization, I am tempted to describe the input side of the cycle, but I’ve grossed you out enough for one day. You’ll just have to wait in breathless anticipation for my blog on this hole in my stomach. Or not.

See you next time.